


Shimmer by Sea

by Zetakh



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Other, Post-Tomb of Annihilation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tomb of Annihilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zetakh/pseuds/Zetakh
Summary: Ravash, a wandering Bard of the College of Lore, travels the Sword Coast in search of local legend and interesting stories. He stumbles across a very striking tavern keeper in the wretched hive of scum and villainy known as Luskan - and figures good stories might just be found in her very tavern.Or, five times two adventurers meet, and one time they meet someone else.
Relationships: OC/OC, Shimmer(OC)/Ravash(OC)
Kudos: 2





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> A very sappy love-story to send my Fighter off after a successful campaign. Played her for two full years, and now she's earned a happy, peaceful life away from adventuring. Mostly written for my own catharsis, letting Shimmer go... But if someone might enjoy reading it, all the better!

The first time Ravash saw her, she made quite the impression.

He was strolling along the main street from Luskan’s south gate - and wasn’t getting through _there_ a trial in the first place - when a door was flung open a few houses down, and a small figure came flying out with a cry of dismay.

Muffled shouting followed, and what looked like a human in simple clothes came stumbling out, arms windmilling like he’d just gotten a good kick to the posterior.

Stepping out after them was a tall figure, coppery scales gleaming in the last rays of sunset, annoyance clear on her draconic features. She wore what looked like a rough leather apron, covering a simple jerkin and trouser combination of clearly high-quality, functional style. With surprise Ravash noted that his unexpected kin had a long tail, lashing behind her with agitation. A rare sight in their race, and clearly not something that held the usual bother to her as it would in most so afflicted.

“Alright you wretches,” she spoke, voice cold and steely. “This is me being nice - begone before I get mean, and never darken my door again! I warned you to keep your filthy paws to yourselves!”

The man picked his companion up from the mud, turning a murderous glare on her. “How dare you, whore? Do you have any idea who I am?”

“A craven drunk who has to get his rocks off by groping the barmaids because he’s too in his cups to attract anything but flies and rats to eat his vomit?”

Ravash raised his eyebrows and whistled inwards. He had to jot that one down.

The glare on the man’s face went from murderous to feral rage, and he ripped a dagger free from a concealed sheath behind his back. Ravash half-reached for his sword - he wasn’t about to let a beautiful lady get skewered on his watch - but he needn’t have bothered.

Ravash didn’t even see where the staff came from, she found it so fast. But with an angry hum it spun through the air, and impacted with a heavy _crack_ of shattering bone upon the drunk’s dagger-wielding wrist.

He squealed like an injured hog and hugged his mangled wrist to his chest, dagger forgotten on the muddy street. His halfling friend, who clearly thought better of trying anything himself, turned tail and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him.

The woman snorted contemptuously, and swept the whimpering drunkard’s legs out from under him with another swing of her staff - though this one was gentler. A meaty thwack to the back of the thighs, instead of a shattered kneecap.

Would still hurt like a bastard, Ravash reflected. The drunk squealed again.

“Better get that looked at if you want to fondle anyone else with that hand,” the woman hissed. “But come anywhere _near_ my door again and the next thing I crush is that filthy bag of rotting meat and two veg in your britches!” She punctuated her threat by spitting on the ground next to the wailing man’s head. It sizzled angrily.

Then, she spun lightly on her heel, kicked the dagger up from the street to neatly catch it in her left hand, and walked back inside, staff slung over one shoulder like she’d carried it all her life. “Pardon that unpleasantness, everyone! Miriam, pour those that want it a round on the house for the trouble!”

A cheer interspersed with “No trouble at all, Miss Shimmer!” “Thank you, miss Shimmer!” “We should’ve paid extra for the _entertainment_!” erupted, laughter echoing into the darkening street as the door closed behind her.

So now the mysterious beauty had a name. “Shimmer,” Ravash muttered, testing the word. “Strange name for kin.” He looked at the door, and up at the sign that hung above it. _The Gleaming Glaive_. An image of the weapon in question drawn beneath the name.

Right, his curiosity was well and truly piqued. Seemed as good an inn as any, especially with a proprietor like _that_. He opened the door and stepped inside.

\---

The atmosphere within was indeed jolly, with people of all shapes and sizes still cheering for their free round or animatedly discussing the recent trouncing. Ravash drew a few looks as he stepped inside, but not the shocked or outright suspicious ones he’d seen more and more of as he journeyed north. Stood to reason, he supposed, when all the patrons were apparently well used to Shimmer already.

Speaking of, there she was, a commanding presence behind the bar, pouring ale and wine at a brisk pace with a cheerful, toothy grin on her face. Now closer, he noted she was actually even taller than him, and broadly muscled, bare arms chiseled with strength. Her loose apron and simple clothes did little to conceal the obvious might of her frame, or the easy assurance of her movements.

Ravash _could_ explain it as years of carrying heavy supplies, bags of food and kegs of ale - but what he’d seen outside hinted at more than that. He was more interested by the second.

He sat down on a recently, and fortunately, vacated bar stool, placing his pack on the floor within easy reach. Shimmer had her back turned to pour another jug out of the massive kegs lined up behind the bar. She turned back, and as her gaze fell upon him, her eyes widened with surprise. 

He winked at her, smiling widely. He was gratified to see her blink at him and her tail twitch behind her, before she shook her shock off and served the ale she was holding. 

As she turned back to him, Ravash spoke. “I didn’t expect to see a beautiful warrior princess of the Vayemniri this far up north. Quite the show outside!”

“Oh you saw that, did you?” she replied, grin broadening. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect a silver-tongued, silver-scaled kinsman to walk through my door either. Small world.” She leaned back lazily, back resting on the kegs, arms crossed. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, though, pretty boy. But I suppose you’re entitled to your free round like everyone else. What’ll it be?”

Ravash grinned at her. “I think I’ll have whatever _you_ prefer drinking, Miss Shimmer.”

He half thought he’d just made a terrible mistake, when her answering grin turned wolfish. “Well! So you shall! But since you have the advantage of me, I’ll have your name first, Silver.”

He stood up and gave her a perfect bow, before settling again. “Clanless Ravash, of Djerad Thymar. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Shimmer.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows atop the bar, fingers clasped thoughtfully. “Though if you’ll pardon me, your name is a mite curious. Haven’t heard the like amongst our kin.”

“No offence taken,” she smiled at him, before bending down to rummage in a cupboard beneath the bar. “It isn’t a - did you call us Vayemniri? - name.” She straightened, and placed a large clay jug on the bar, before lining two mugs up and pouring generous measures of an amber, fragrant liquid. She picked hers up, and raised it in a toast. “My full name is Shimmer, daughter of Spear on Sand, of the Dusty Dunes Clan.” She tossed her drink back in a smooth motion, emptying her mug in a single draw with obvious relish.

Ravash followed her example. The drink was sweet, tasting of honey and fruits, and warmed his throat pleasantly. “Well, there’s another mystery. A beautiful lady, half a world from our homeland, drinking alcohol I’ve never tasted. You have quite the story, do you not, miss Shimmer?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Ravash?” she replied, amusement in her voice and eyes. She topped their mugs up. “The drink is T’ej - the single good thing to come out of the hellhole known as Chult. Got a friend there that helps me import it.” She took a sip. “The lady is from Dust Shingle - a village small enough to not even exist on a map. It lies in Calimshan. The name was given by my father, the captain of the Watch. He named me for the way my scales shimmered in the desert sun, and for his clan. He’s Tabaxi, adopted me when I was barely a whelp. Didn’t see another Dragonborn until I was already an adult. Still know next to nothing about us. Information hasn’t been easy to come across in the West, though I have heard of Tymanther. I assume that’s where you hail from?”

Ravash gaped at her. “It… is. Actually passed fairly close to Calimshan as I traveled from there. I’d be delighted to tell you more about it, but I’d love to know more, first.” At her nod and an inviting hand gesture, he continued. “So you’ve barely interacted with any of our people? Any idea how you ended up all alone in Dust Shingle as barely a hatchling?”

“Hatchling? Oh! So we _do_ lay eggs! I did wonder!”

Taking another sip had been a mistake, as Ravash choked into his mug and sprayed T’ej all over his face and the bar.

Well. At least he made her laugh. Loudly. As did most of the patrons around the bar, and the rest of the employees behind it. 

She regained control of herself, though she still had a wide, toothy grin on her face as she turned to retrieve two moist, but clean, rags. She handed him one and started wiping down the counter with the other. “Better clean yourself up, handsome, or you’ll attract every ant and wasp on the coast.”

And she called him _handsome_ now, did she? Maybe making a fool of himself wasn’t a complete loss, he reflected, as he gratefully wiped T’ej out of his scales and frills.

“To answer your question,” she continued, mirth still evident in her tone, “Father has a theory. A day or two after he found me in his quarters, a man turned up blinded and knifed in an alley. Apparently he was infamous for selling pretty much anything he could get his greedy claws on, including slaves. And his ransacked cart had a cage just large enough to contain, say, a large dog… or a small person.” Her expression shifted to a self-satisfied smirk. “The cage’s lock had been corroded away as if by a very strong acid. As had the bastard’s eyes.”

Ravash raised his eyebrows and whistled. “Here’s to being an early bloomer! Most of us don’t develop our breath until near adulthood. What were you up to in your father’s quarters?”

“Eating a raw rat with my bare hands while hiding under his bed. It was quite the introduction to our kinds’ existence.”

Thankfully he hadn’t had another swig. He cleared his throat. “Clearly you hadn’t been well-fed. So you’re found under his bed, he’s never seen the likes of you before, and you’re eating a raw rat.”

“Yep.”

“And he takes you in as his own.”

Her expression softened, a fond smile on her face. “Just so.”

“He sounds like a brave and good man.”

“That he is.”

“Is he the one to teach you to fight, too? From the earlier display, he was clearly a good teacher.”

Shimmer guffawed, and nodded. “Him and ol’ Sarge. Was taught how to hold a spear almost as soon as I could speak. Apparently everyone was quite shocked by just how fast I matured.” She pursed her lips. “Taught to _hold_ a spear worked. How to _fight_ with one didn’t quite work out, though.”

“No?”

“No. I kept swinging them around like clubs and broke half a dozen before they gave up and just made a glaive for me.” She nodded over his shoulder. “That one there, to be specific.”

Ravash turned, and saw a display piece high on a wall - a glaive, of simple but excellent make. Set on pegs on a framed tablet. And it _did_ gleam. Looking freshly oiled, dusted, with an edge that caught the light of the fireplace and lanterns scattered around the crowded room. Not a display piece, though, on further study. Ravash saw the obvious signs of use that only a true weapon of war could boast. Notches in the edge that a whetstone couldn’t grind away. Flecks in the metal that hinted at bloodstains too deep and buried to ever come out. 

“The titular one, I take it.” He faced her again. “I should very dearly like to know more about it. And about you, Shimmer.”

“Perhaps you may.” Her tone was more subdued. “But not tonight. Now I’ve got an inn to run, you’ve distracted me enough, Silver. Besides, you owe me stories from the homeland, as you called it!”

“Silver again, is it? What will it take to get my name back, Copper?” His tone held a cheeky challenge.

“Why don’t you dust that dulcimer of yours off and entertain my patrons?” Her grin was back. “I can say for a fact neither them nor I have heard anything from far Tymanther. Two birds with one stone - I get my story, you get your name back, and do well enough and I might just make you supper. What’ll it be, Silver?”

He grinned at her, unslinging his instrument from his back and absentmindedly testing the tension in the strings. “Guess my profession was rather obvious?”

“Bards are never good at staying incognito,” Shimmer confirmed. “Comes with being the centre of attention all the time.”

“True enough. Well, let’s see if I can hold the attention of the crowd, and not just you!” He winked at her. “Oh, watch my pack, will you?” He held it up.

“Aye, I’ll keep it safe ‘til you’re done.” She took it, setting it down somewhere behind the bar, out of sight.

He nodded and turned to make his way over to the stage at the far end of the room, weaving between tables and serving staff both with practiced ease. He briefly considered if he was being foolish trusting her with all his worldly possessions - but some instinct in him told him he could.

He skipped the stairs entirely, and leapt onto the stage, kicking a stool out from a corner and arranging himself upon it in the centre. A murmur went through the crowd as patrons noticed him, and he felt the interested attention of the room fall upon him.

Good, that made introductions easier.

“Greetings, ladies, gentlemen, and people of all sorts!” he called, arranging his dulcimer on his lap and strumming a few easy chords. “Your own Mistress Shimmer kindly requested I entertain you tonight, and I feel it only proper to repay her hospitality - and the show from earlier!” 

Ravash was gratified as a wave of laughter and “Hear hear!” went through the room.

“As you might tell I am not from these parts -” more laughter. “- So I shall play and tell you stories from my homeland - far Tymanther to the east and south.” He strummed his instrument and started a gentle tune. “My one request is that if you don’t enjoy the performance you only toss _fresh_ vegetables - I haven’t had supper yet and Mistress Shimmer said she’ll only feed me if you lot are entertained!”

The answering roar of laughter boded well, and Ravash started in on one of the oldest tales told by his people - of the Rebellion, and their struggle for freedom in ancient Skelkor. He poured all he had into his tale, going long into the night - a hush fell on the room, the crowd enraptured.

He found himself meeting Shimmer’s gaze often throughout, as she listened from behind the bar with rapt attention. Though if she noticed him speaking and singing all for her, she gave no sign.

\---

A heaping platter of fragrant stew, bread, and cheese was set down on the table in front of Ravash, a large tankard of ale beside. He looked up to see Shimmer smile down at him, before she pulled out a chair and settled next to him. The common room was empty and still around them.

“Eat up, Ravash,” she told him. “You’ve earned it.”

“And my name back too, besides,” he confirmed, smiling. “Guess I was entertaining enough, then?”

“Hah!” she guffawed. “You had the entire room spellbound within the first few lines! And I’m not too proud to admit that hearing tales from our people was… a fine experience. Thank you.”

He swallowed and chased his mouthful down with a swig. “You’re very welcome, Shimmer. And thank _you_ for supper. Haven’t had fare this good on the road for a long time.”

She snorted. “I’ll pass your praise along to the chef. Be thankful I’m not the one to make it, anything but trail rations turns to inedible dross in my care.”

Ravash nodded solemnly and raised his tankard. “To chefs, who keep us inept adventurers from starvation.” 

“Hear hear,” Shimmer laughed, getting up to lock the door and snuff the lights. She returned and placed a heavy key on the table, wooden tag on a leather cord tied to it. “Your room’s right at the top of the stairs, dead ahead. I had Miriam bring your pack up while you played. I shall turn in. My office and quarters are at the end of the hall around the corner, should you have need of me.”

Ravash decided to be bold. “I could forgo the key entirely and come with?”

She grinned at him. “Nice try, Ravash. But I told you flattery will get you nowhere. I know you bards.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. A maid in every port, a bastard in every ville. You’ll sire no hatchlings under this roof, handsome.” She gave him a firm pat on the back as she passed, nearly knocking his breath away. “But you might have found a friend. And you’re welcome to stay as long as you’re in town.”

He couldn’t help following her retreat with his gaze as she walked away and up the stairs.

And, quite without meaning to, he found himself staying in Luskan for the better part of a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the meet-cute has happened!
> 
> I think we all know where this is going.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. The Second Time

The second time she saw him, spring had passed into a typically harsh early Luskan autumn. Wind and rain pounded the city incessantly, and poor Ravash walked through her door soaked to the bone.

“You’re a sorry sight,” she called over the empty common room as he stumbled in, dripping water everywhere. “Most folk have the good sense to stay indoors with the weather like this. Even the drunks prefer to stay at home!"

“And I have the good sense to take shelter in the one house I know I’m welcome in this gods-forsaken hive of scum and villainy,” he retorted, fussily checking the oilcloth wrapping on his dulcimer. “Of all the places to live, you choose this climate?”

“Hah! You can take the Shimmer out of the wretched hive of scum and villainy, but you can’t take the wretched hive of scum and villainy out of the Shimmer. I’ve had enough heat to last a lifetime, however. Luskan is nice and cool, but still wretched enough to feel like home.” She rose and stepped out from behind the bar, grabbing a chair and placing it near the fireplace. “Now come over here, sit yourself down, and dry off before your scales start rusting.”

He scoffed. “Silver doesn’t rust, unlike some other metals I could name. But I shall take you up on the offer all the same.” He suited words to action and trooped over, wincing a little at the muddy, wet trail his steps left on the floor as he went.

Shimmer helped him out of his soaked travelling cloak, even the thick, treated wool not enough to completely repel a deluge like this. She draped it over a second chair, which she kicked near the flame, and then turned to look her guest over. 

Poor Ravash shivered, holding his clawed hands to the flame and rubbing life back into his fingers.

“Right, stay put,” Shimmer commanded, before turning to walk back behind the bar and through the swinging doors to the kitchens. ‘ _Can’t have the one Dragonborn friend I have freeze to death in my common room.’_

She busied herself with heating some mulled wine, putting a small assortment of fatty, cured meats and sausages together with bread and cheese on a plate as she waited.

Ravash was obediently exactly where she’d left him. He’d divested himself of his boots, jacket and shirt, spreading them out on the floor, leaving only his britches. A more healthy flush was rising on his features as he soaked in the heat of the fireplace, no longer shivering.

Shimmer didn’t even try to stop herself from appreciating the sight. She’d seen handsome men before, of course… But not one of her own kind. His lean, wiry muscle tone drew her gaze along his shoulders, arms and back, his scales glittering in the firelight… Until he looked over his shoulder and met her eyes. She carefully schooled her wistful smile into a more neutral expression and shook herself.

Ravash, though, clearly knew exactly what she’d been up to. He smiled cheekily at her, and flicked a look down her form, before meeting her eyes again, grinning even wider.

Shimmer blinked, and looked down over her shoulder. Her tail was lashing back and forth with excitement.

“Traitor,” she muttered, stomping forward. She kicked another chair into place in front of Ravash, who had the _nerve_ to actually chuckle, placing the plate on it and pressing the steaming mug of mulled wine into his hands. “Drink up, you smug silverfish. Having a bard freeze to death in my common room would be bad for business.”

“Your concern for my health is as pragmatic as it is touching, truly,” he replied sardonically. He sipped his wine, giving an appreciative hum. “Though the warmth is welcome and the wine excellent.”

“Glad to know I’m not poisoning you with some sour swill. Good wine is harder than you’d think to get a hold of here. Need to take regular trips down to Neverwinter for the decent stuff.” She reached forward and snatched a chunk of beef off the plate. “Eat up, you’re far too thin for this climate.”

“Yes ma’am. Though I’m usually not so bothered by the cold. Comes with the blood.” He held up a chunk of bread and breathed out slowly on it. Mist formed on his breath, and a thin layer of frost coated the now flash-frozen bread. “Must be the wet doing me in.”

Shimmer raised her eyebrows. “Well then, I see not all of us are acidic in nature.”

“Very much not. Most Dragonborn exhibit one of several types of breath, that can usually be traced back to our draconic ancestors, far far back. Not all of us are so readily identifiable by our skin, however. Generations of intermingling means appearance varies wildly. True Copper Dragons do indeed have an affinity for acid - and Silvers for cold.”

“And Reds are fire,” Shimmer mused. 

She felt a ghost of searing heat pass over her back, before she pushed the memory down again.

Ravash paused. “Yes. Is this another chapter in your story, Miss Shimmer?”

Shimmer grimaced. “One I’d rather forget. I’d rather hear what you’ve been up to, Ravash. Been nearly half a year since you were here last, has it not?”

“Give or take, aye.” He smirked. “Got _you_ to thank for my latest adventure. I actually went to that hellhole you get your T’ej from.”

Shimmer felt an unpleasant twisting in her gut. 

“You went to Chult? Whatever for? Please tell me you were at least sensible enough to stay in Port Nyanzaru?” 

“Hah!” Ravash guffawed. “You couldn’t get me to set foot in that jungle hell with all the gold on the Sword Coast. I took one look out through the city gates and decided I liked civilization just fine. As for why I went… I never told you which College I’m a part of when last we met, did I?”

Shimmer shook her head. “Indeed you did not. Only one I really know anything about is Glamour, admittedly. Got an old friend who is a member.”

Ravash nodded. “A fine troupe, Glamour. I am a member of the College of Lore, however. I seek out history, stories, legends, to preserve and carry them on. Much like how I told the tale of the Rebellion of our forebears.” He paused to sip at his wine and grab a few choice morsels. “I heard rumours of a great plague, or curse, that had struck that nation, and set out to learn more.”

Shimmer felt cold. The twisting in her gut grew teeth.

“What I heard was the tallest tale I’ve ever come across, but several sources, including the Trade Princes, confirmed it.” He grew animated, speaking excitedly. “They said that a curse - The Death Curse - had plagued the land. The recently dead could no longer be raised, people who had previously returned to life from beyond the veil slowly wasted away, and the undead stalked the interior. More rumours said a terrible artifact could be found in the heart of the cursed jungle, that was the cause of it all, and that several expeditions had set forth to try and put an end to it. Apparently, only one ever returned, but not with all members.”

Ravash continued, launching into an incredibly embellished tale of the exploits that, unbeknownst to him, Shimmer had in fact _lived_. With a will, Shimmer forced herself to remain in control, to still her racing, anxious heart. Memories flashed as mind matched actual events to the story Ravash told.

“...and then the warrior leapt onto the foul dragon’s back, plunging her weapon into its spine and riding its broken body to the - are you laughing?”

Shimmer could hardly believe it herself, but she was. She held up a hand in a placating gesture, fighting to gain control of herself again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Riding the dragon to their death? From atop the cave wall? How bloody high did those crazy cats think I could actually jump? And how did they expect me to survive a fall like that, dragon or no dragon beneath me?” She started laughing again, covering her face with her palm.

As she finally gained control of herself again, Ravash looked at her with narrow eyes, one eyebrow raised. “You can’t honestly claim to be the warrior from a fable like this? You’re clearly a fighter, no question there, but give me some credit, Shimmer. I’m not a gullible fool.”

Shimmer huffed, and gave him a mirthless smile. “Ravash, you dense old bookworm. Did you really record all this without any physical descriptions of the heroes in question?”

“Well obviously I asked for descriptions! There was a Paladin of Ilmater, a Tiefling, with raven-black hair, piercing yellow eyes -”

_Ardyne, shield scorched and covered with soot, desperately running for cover._

“A halfling Artificer, as brilliant as she was seemingly insane -”

_Euphie, pushed down under Ardyne’s bulk, as a torrent of fire filled the room._

“A Bard, of elemental kin and otherworldly beauty -”

_Scirrocos, wild-eyed, hair smoldering at the tips, looking straight at me._

“A tortle wise one, of powerful wizardly might, sadly lost to the jungle -”

_Yawgoo, standing tall above, raining magical assaults down on the beast._

“And finally the warrior, a towering fighter of draconic heritage, wielding a polearm as if it were a part of… her.”

_The meaty sound of cleaving flesh, followed by splintering bone as I drove my glaive up through the dragon’s palate and into her brain. The torrent of hot blood as I wrenched my weapon free, the flood soaking my britches. The pain, as melted and cracked scales rubbed against each other as I straightened again._

_The bone-deep exhaustion as adrenaline was replaced with relief as I lived._

Shimmer met Ravash's eyes. "It was a lot more desperate and terrifying than what you've heard. Small wonder that Flask of Wine and River Mist would embellish like that. Those cats both had a knack for dramatics." She nodded over his shoulder. "That glaive is indeed what slew her - after Scirrocos, the Bard, sent her crashing to the cave floor with magical sleep." 

Ravash just gaped at her. "I never told you who recited the story to me." 

Shimmer smiled a grim, mirthless smile. "Didn't have to, I know them well. They were crazy enough to accompany us on the journey, seeking stories and fortune. Still amazed they made it out alive." She felt her smile fade. "Still amazed I did."

Ravash was silent. He looked into his almost empty cup, silence stretching long. "They never said what happened after you… Entered the Tomb. Only that you eventually came back."

The twist in Shimmer's gut came back, teeth and claws gnashing with hunger. 

"We told no-one," Shimmer said, voice flat and cold. "What we discovered and experienced in there was… No. I can't say. It will haunt us the rest of our lives, and us alone."

"Shimmer -" 

"No. Do not ask it of me." she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I… can tell you of the journey there. There are things Flask and River did not know. But what happened inside stays with me. Until death."

Ravash looked at her, expression tight with concern. “Very well. I will hear all you wish to tell.”

“Right. Hold on.” She turned and walked across the room, stepping behind the bar again. She bent to retrieve a small keg, hefting it onto the counter. She grabbed a tankard, filled it to the brim, and walked to rejoin Ravash by the fire. “Not telling this tale sober.”

And she told him the true story of the horrors, death, and terror she’d seen in that accursed jungle. The jungle that claimed four of her companions. The same jungle that made her flee halfway across the world to get away from the memory of it. The storm raged outside, rain hammered down, and no guests came to interrupt the telling, as it went on through the day and into the night.

\---

The next day, Shimmer met Ravash as he came down the stairs at the crack of dawn, geared up for travel and his pack slung across his shoulder. She raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “Gone again so soon?”

“Aye, more’s the pity.” He replied, resettling his load more comfortably. “I’m expected on an early ship to Ironmaster, and then on to Ten Towns - a patron of mine in Neverwinter was keen on acquiring some information on local legend before winter sets in. If all goes to plan I’ll pass by here again on the way back before the first snows.”

“Well, here’s hoping you don’t have to winter up there.” Shimmer shuddered. “Icewind is aptly named.”

“So I hear. I’ll be sure to call on you again when I return, Shimmer.” He smiled fondly at her. “As before, thank you for the hospitality, and the company.”

An unfamiliar warmth bloomed in Shimmer’s chest. She returned his smile with one of her own. “You’re always welcome under my roof, Ravash. Safe travels.”

He nodded, opened the door, and was gone.

Shimmer felt a small pang of regret. She was sad to see him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up. Poor Shimmer has quite a lot of baggage she's not ready to give up yet... 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. The Third Time

The third time he saw her, she had none of the usual cheer he’d come to know her for.

She walked along the snow-covered street, lit only by moonlight, clad in a full fur-lined suit of plate mail and cloak, her glaive slung over a shoulder. In the waning light, he spotted dark flecks of blood on the blunt end of her weapon, and in a spatter on her chest.

“Shimmer!” he called, voice tinged with worry. “What happened? You look like you’ve just come back from a battle!”

“Ravash,” she replied, voice calm but flat. “You’re lucky you caught me, I closed up shop hours ago. As for this,” she gestured to herself. “Just a bit of unpleasantness. Some new hotshot in town thought he could lay advances on Miriam. When her refusals didn’t do the trick and he tried to track her down in her home… I took care of it.”

“Took care of it how, exactly?”

“Just a broken nose and some bruises.” She chuckled darkly. “That he stumbled into the river afterward was no concern of mine.”

Ravash blanched. “The river is frozen.”

“Not too frozen. If he’s lucky he’ll get fished out by his craven companions and suffer through winter with pneumonia.” Her voice turned steely cold. “If he’s not, he’ll re-emerge with the thaw.”

Ravash frowned. He’d never heard her speak so callously before.

She seemed to pay his hesitation no mind, turning to unlock the Glaive’s door. She left it open for him, and he followed.

Ravash watched as Shimmer walked across the empty common room and stirred the smoldering embers in the fireplace, adding a fresh log to get the warmth going again. Her motions were mechanical, precise, but held none of the usual animated cheer he’d seen in her before.

“Shimmer, are you alright?” He asked, half taking a step towards her.

“Fine.” she replied curtly. “Just had a lot on my mind lately. I’m glad to see you well, Ravash. I’d be happy to hear what you’ve been up to in the morning.” She collected the key to his usual room atop the stairs, handing it to him. “I’m exhausted, it's been a long and unpleasant day. I apologise for the poor hospitality, but I must rest. You may help yourself to the pantry, kitchen’s to the left past the bar.” 

“Thank you, Shimmer,” he answered. Yet he couldn’t shake a twinge of worry in his chest. Shimmer wasn’t herself. “Are you certain you’re alright?”

“Aye. Thank you, Ravash, but I just need rest.” She trotted back across the common room to lock and bar the door. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Ravash followed her retreat up the stairs with unease. He was hungry, though, so he shrugged and made for the kitchens.

\---

Some time later, Ravash was making his way up to his room with his bounty - a plate loaded with cured meat, sausages and cheese, with a lit candle for light. Yet he paused at the door.

He couldn’t shake the lingering worry he felt for Shimmer. Something was definitely off.

Grimacing, he let himself into his room and set the plate down on the corner desk, and divested himself of his pack and travelling gear. Then he paused, considering.

_ ‘Hell with it,’ _ he thought, grabbed the candle, exited the room, and made his way along the corridor to where Shimmer had mentioned she had her quarters and office.

A set of three doors met him as he turned the corner. Ahead, a heavy door hung with a simple sign saying only “Office.” To the left, one that gave him pause. A door that wasn’t only heavy oak, but steel-banded with heavy black strips. He felt curiosity tickle at his attention, but brushed it away. He was being far too invasive as it was.

He looked to the final door, one that looked much like the guest room doors. He tried his luck, and listened quietly. 

For once he wasn’t gratified to be correct, as what he heard sounded like muffled whimpers.

His heart twisted, and he knocked softly. “Shimmer? Is anything amiss?”

No answer. Still more sounds of distress.

He knocked a bit harder. No response.

_ ‘Hell’s bells,’  _ he thought to himself. _ ‘I hope you’ll forgive me for this, Shimmer.’ _

He tried the handle, just in case. Of course it was locked, someone with her history would never leave her door open. Expecting it, Ravash had already fished his set of lockpicks out of an inner pocket, and he bent to his task.

\---

Ravash cursed, as he looked at the three useless bits of scrap that used to be lockpicks in his hand. Whoever designed the lock for Shimmer’s personal quarters had far too much time and expertise on their hands. At least he got it open with his fourth.

He eased the door open gently, and took in the room in the candlelight. 

The plate he’d seen Shimmer wearing was piled at the foot of the bed in a messy collection. He frowned to see it not even cleaned. She really  _ had _ been exhausted.

Shimmer herself was curled up on the bed, looking smaller and more vulnerable under the covers than Ravash had ever seen her. Her breathing was rapid, panicked. His heart ached to see her in such distress. 

He muttered a short verse, voice clear but soft, and twisted his hands in a gesture. Energy gathered in the room, with a sensation like a hushed whisper against his scaled hide. Shimmer stilled, her features relaxing. 

Keeping focus on his incantation in the back of his mind, Ravash carefully stepped forward to sit on the edge of Shimmer's bed, her back to him. Then he gently reached up to shake her shoulder, with a whispered "Shimmer, wake up."

She stiffened under his touch, a sharp inhale and eyes opening heralding her return to wakefulness. 

"Ravash," she growled. "You better have a good explanation for why you're in my room. Which was locked, I might add." She didn't shrug out of his touch.

"I'm sorry, Shimmer," he whispered, squeezing her shoulder softly. "I could tell you were in distress, and couldn't just leave you to suffer alone. It pains me to have invaded your privacy. Forgive me. Say the word and I will be gone."

"No," she whispered. "Stay." She placed a hand on top of his, holding it in place. "It helps, having a friend." 

"Nightmares?" 

"Memories. Of… the things I  _ didn't  _ tell you last time. The retelling of what lead up to the Tomb must have reawakened them." She sighed deeply. "They've plagued me ever since you left."

Ravash hissed, dismayed. "I'm sorry. If I had known -" 

"Don't be. You couldn't possibly have." Her expression turned thoughtful. "Strange, though. I  _ feel _ the terror, same as always. But it's… numbed, subdued. I am in control, for once."

Ravash grunted. "That's the second thing I need to apologise for. I cast an incantation as you slept. It calms strong emotions, gives you the ability to rule your fear. It's still there, but you are, as you said, in control."

Shimmer huffed a breath. "I need to have a talk with Scirrocos about his educational priorities, that would have been handy back in Chult."

"I'd imagine so," he conceded darkly. 

They stayed like that for a while, silent, Ravash gently rubbing Shimmer's hand with his thumb. 

Shimmer sniffed. Ravash didn't mention the tears that ran down her cheek. 

"I don't think I'll ever be free of them," she whispered. "I might manage to bury them, ignore them, every now and again. A week, months. But eventually they come back, and I fall apart."

"Dark memories never leave us," Ravash agreed, shifting his hand to intertwine his fingers with hers. "They're a part of us, as much as we might wish otherwise. But we don't have to bear their burden alone."

Shimmer shook her head. "My friends have their own demons. I can't burden them with mine as well. None of us came away from that place whole."

"Then burden me, Shimmer." He moved to clasp her hand with both of his. "I'm your friend as well. Tell me." 

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I can't. It hurts too much."

"Then let me help you.  _ Please. _ "

"What makes you think you can?" She shifted a bit, meeting his eyes. 

He smiled at her. "Nothing. But does it hurt more to try?" 

She stared at him for a long while. Then she sighed, disentangled her hand from his, and sat up, letting the blanket fall away. 

Ravash barely bit back his gasp, turning it into a strangled huff.

"It's alright," Shimmer stated, melancholy. "It's not a pretty sight. Dragonfire will do that to you. I took cover behind a cliff and just the touch of the breath itself turned the rock white-hot. Nearly cooked me in my own armour."

Ravash looked, as Shimmer shifted a little. Most of the scales on her upper back were misformed and melted-looking, with angry red imprints of myriad tiny rings. 

"You know," he mused. "Battle scars like this would be considered a badge of honour back in Tymanther. Proof you bested our oldest enemy and lived to tell the tale."

Shimmer snorted. "Didn't feel like a victory back then."

"Fighting never does." He rose, and walked around the bed to crouch in front of Shimmer, looking up at her. “Give me your hands and close your eyes.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, but she did as she was told.

“I want you to focus only on what you can sense.” He squeezed her hands. “My hands in yours. The sound of my voice. The bed beneath you, the floorboards under your feet. Nothing else exists. Don’t speak,” he hushed, as she moved to open her mouth. “Just nod.”

Shimmer snorted, but nodded.

“Good. Do nothing but breathe. Fill your lungs, let them expand your chest, and hold. Hold. Release, release, slow. Good, and repeat. In, hold, hold, out, slow, slow. Keep going.”

A minute passed. Another. Shimmer breathed.

“Are you calm, Shimmer?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He squeezed her hands again. “Now, we’re going to try. We can stop at any time. You’re in control. You’re in your own home, you’re safe, nothing can harm you. You can do this.”

As he spoke, Ravash let warm energy infuse his words, letting them wash over Shimmer. Her tense expression eased slightly, and she sat a little straighter. 

“Will you tell me of what you see, in your memories?”

Shimmer shivered, but nodded.

Squeeze. “I’m here. I’ll listen.”

“Most is just a blur,” she started, voice soft and shaky. “The Tomb… it was a place of madness. Built only for death in the most twisted ways possible. Traps of every type, puzzles designed for pure torment, monsters stalking every corridor. There was no way to rest, no opportunity to let your guard down for ages on end, just constant fear and pain.” 

If Shimmer noticed the tears that spilled, she gave no indication. Ravash let her hands go, reaching up to cup her face. Gently wiping the tears away with his thumbs. She stiffened for a moment, then leaned into the touch.

With a shuddering breath, she continued. “What we found at the heart… Everyone spoke of an artifact, but that’s not the right word. It was something that shouldn’t ever have existed. It was just  _ wrong _ . It was a massive chamber, with a…  _ thing _ in the centre of it, suspended over a chasm of fire. It looked like a giant bottle of crystal, filled with ghosts. With  _ souls. _ ”

“The Soulmonger,” Ravash said.

“Yes.” She grasped tightly at her bedding, knuckles going white. “It caught all the dead and dying, used them for fuel. And it was  _ alive _ . It had tentacles, and tried to defend itself as my friends assaulted it. I… fought the thing it was meant  _ for _ .” She paused, repeating the breaths.

Ravash waited, silent. He sought her hand with his, and intertwined their fingers.

“I can only call it… a stillborn godling. Or something. It was massive, connected to the Soulmonger by an umbilical, like in a twisted, constructed womb. I could  _ see _ it feed on the Soulmonger as I attacked it, trying to keep it distracted. Just being  _ near _ it was anathema to all life. Healing didn’t work, my scales were falling off and rotting as I stood.” Her face twisted with pain. “I can still feel it. It  _ hurts. _ ”

“It happened, Shimmer,” Ravash whispered, squeezing her hand tighter. “But it is  _ gone _ . Remember where you are. What do you feel?”

A pause. Breathe. “I’m sitting on my bed. I feel the downy bedding. The floorboards under my feet… your hand.” A very small smile broke through the despair. “I hear your voice.”

“Good. You’re doing so  _ well _ , Shimmer.” His voice was warm, comforting. “You have no idea how strong you really are. There’s no judgment here, no shame in stopping if you need to.”

“No, I…” Breathe. “I can do this. I can continue.”

She breathed again. Ravash waited.

“I fought. There was nothing else I could do. My friends manage to shatter the crystal, destroying the Soulmonger. The torrent of souls escape, taking the unholy godling’s food with it. But it still lives, somehow. My friends make a run for it - there’s some sort of portal at the far end of the chamber. Scirrocos grabs me, steps us over the chasm with magic. But I see Euphie, basically  _ beneath _ the damn monster. So I leap back into it, keep fighting… and somehow, I kill it. It drops into the chasm, and burns in the lava below.”

She pauses again.

“Then its dad shows up.”

“What?”

“Aye. Acererak. The mad wizard that caused all this, who cursed an entire nation to build his own God. Who lured adventurers into the Tomb just so he could use their deaths to feed his abomination.” Shimmer’s voice grows small. “He appears out of nowhere. Stands next to the portal. I can’t remember what he says, but he looks at me. His gaze is nothing but  _ hatred _ . Then he speaks a word.”

“And I die.”

Ravash hisses. “What?”

Shimmer nods, her expression blank. “I die. Whatever it was he said… it ripped the life out of me. Like the world reordered itself around the word to will it so. I died. Like I was a puppet with cut strings.”

“Then…”

“...How am I still here?” Shimmer pauses. “I have no idea. I can’t remember anything except a faint sensation of someone calling me back. Then we’re somehow running through Omu, and  _ everything _ hurts. Impossibly, we make it out and back to the ship.” She finally opens her eyes.

Ravash stares at her. “By all the gods, Shimmer.”

She smiled grimly at him. “Now you know why we told no-one. Few would believe it… and those that would don’t deserve that kind of horror. It was our burden to bear.” She looked down. “And now yours. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Shimmer.” He rose, settling on the bed next to her. “I asked it of you. I bear it willingly.”

“You did, didn’t you? You’re really something else, you know that?” She smiles at him.

Ravash feels his breath catch. He coughs. “Nothing next to you. Shimmer the God-Slayer.”

She grimaces and laughs. “Please don’t call me that. I’m just Shimmer.” She pauses. “You can let go of the emotion whammy now. I… think I’ve got a handle on things. For the first time in a long time.”

“Hah!” Ravash guffawed. “Dear Shimmer, that stopped working ages ago. This was all you - your strength, your bravery, your willpower. Your memories are part of you, but they don’t  _ rule _ you. You rule  _ them _ . You proved that tonight.” He drapes an arm over her shoulders, slightly awkwardly with her larger frame, hugging her. “You’re amazing.”

She stiffens.

_ ‘Shit,’ _ he thinks. “I’m sorry, I overstepped -” he begins to pull away.

She tackles him into the bedding, pinning him beneath her. Her arms are locked around him, hugging tightly enough to drive his breath from his chest. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, shuddering sobs ripping out, as she finally breaks.

Ravash holds her, as he feels his heart twist with her pain. He says nothing, only strokes her neck gently, as her entire body is wracked with the sorrow and terror she hasn’t allowed herself to feel for years.

\---

Finally, she stills, drawing exhausted breaths.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs, looking up at him. “I’ve blubbered all over you, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Shh,” he hushes, hugging her tighter. “You have nothing to apologize for. Everyone, no matter how strong, needs help sometimes. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He wipes her cheeks gently with the back of his hand. “You’re exhausted. Rest a moment, I’ll go downstairs and fetch some water. And the plate of supper I forgot in my room.”

Shimmer grunts. Ravash gently helps her sit up so he can extricate himself from their embrace. He drapes the blanket over her shoulders before he leaves. He lets his hands linger on her shoulders a breath longer than necessary.

He makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, filling two large tankards from the barrel of freshwater in the corner. He returns to the upper floor, collects the forgotten plate of food from his room, and rejoins Shimmer. He notes she hasn’t moved since he left. He sets the food down on her bedside table.

“Here,” he offers a tankard.

She accepts with a nod, drinking deep. 

Ravash remains standing, sipping slowly at his own tankard.

Shimmer drains hers, and looks up at him. “Come here?” She asks - almost shy.

Ravash blinks, and sits next to her again. He turns and looks up to meet her eyes. His breath catches again. They’re close enough he can feel her hot breath on his face.

Shimmer closes the distance. She presses their foreheads together, gently.

Ravash doesn’t pull away. His tankard drops to the floor.

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

He does. It’s gentle, soft.

Shimmer turns towards him fully, running her hands up his back, pressing herself closer.

Ravash responds, grasping at her neck and shoulders.

She presses him down onto the bed again. Her hands start fumbling with his shirt.

He pulls away, out of breath. “What happened to not siring any hatchlings under this roof?”

She growls. “To hell with it. I’ve had nights of nothing but death and horrors for years. Will you give me one with life and joy?”

He meets her eyes. “I’m not going to deny wanting this ever since I first saw you. You’re beautiful, Shimmer. I’m yours.” His hands trace her chest, chiseled muscles shuddering under his touch.

“Good,” she huffs. “Then let the dice fall where they may - they’re future Shimmer’s problem.”

\---

They don’t get much sleep that night. Or the rest of the week before Ravash has to travel on to Neverwinter, before the weather turns too harsh.

But for the first time in months, Shimmer gets real rest.

Her memories are quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hurt/Comfort meat we all craved. Thank you for reading!


	4. The Fourth Time

The fourth time she sees him, Shimmer has a lot on her mind.

She’s walking along the shore of Neverwinter River, travelling cloak open and unhooded as the warm air rising from the river’s heated water turns the early spring air warm and misty. 

‘ _ Ardyne’s going to kill me when she rolls back into town,’ _ Shimmer laments in her mind, rubbing at her tense brow. ‘ _ Or worse, kidnap me and lock me up in a bloody convent. Or worst of all -  _ lecture _ me!’ _

The small pack of supplies and notes she received from her errand in the markets itch against her lower back, and her fingers play a nervous rhythm against the comfortable wood of her glaive. Her gait is stiff with anxiety until she reaches the inn she’s staying at - Driftwood Tavern.

\---

She’s nestled herself into a corner of the common room, absently picking at her lunch of cold cuts as she reads through the notes she’s been given. The old crone she talked to was helpful enough to have provided basically every detail of what she needed to know -  _ after _ lamenting about ‘ _ Foolish hatchlings, thinking they can handle anything after a bit of adventuring!’  _

_ ‘Look at me,’ _ she thinks to herself, sipping at her cup of steaming tea.  _ ‘Brooding - heh - in a corner like some third-rate cutthroat trying to look scary -’ _

“Shimmer? What are you doing here?”

She startles, tea sloshing out of her cup and dripping down her chin. She scrambles to salvage her notes from the droplets, gathering them haphazardly and glaring at the man who got her into this mess in the first place.

Ravash grins at her. “Guess that’s finally revenge for the T’ej last year, eh? What’s that you’re working on, beautiful?”

Shimmer blanches. She really hadn’t expected this conversation so soon.

Ravash notices her hesitation and frowns. “Shimmer? Are you alright?”

“Well… yes. But no. Gah!” she hisses, rubbing her face. “Ravash, we need to talk.”

He blinks. “Very well. Should I sit, or…?”

She gets up, gathering her papers and stuffing them back into the little pack, before snatching up the mug of tea. “Grab the food and follow, I’ve got a room. This is private.” She moves swiftly across the room and up the stairs, hearing Ravash scramble to keep up behind her. She opens her room and hustles him inside, closing and locking it behind them.

She freezes, facing the door, hunched. ‘ _ Seven Hells, how do I even begin?’ _

Apparently Ravash has an idea. She feels his arms close around her from behind, as he hugs her close and rubs his face on her shoulders, where he can reach. She relaxes, huffing out a breath and laying a hand on his, clasped above her middle.

“It’s good to see you, Shimmer,” he murmurs. “I missed you, this past winter. It was colder than usual, without you.”

She smiles, turning to face him within his embrace. Leaning down, she touches their foreheads together. “I missed you too.”

He grins. “I’m glad to hear it. Our last meeting was… very pleasant.” The grin turns lecherous.

She laughs. “It was, eventually.” She eases out of the embrace, passing him by to sit on the bed. “So, you wintered in Neverwinter, did you?”

“Aye,” he agreed, from behind her. “Seemed as good a place as any, especially considering how mild and pleasant the winters are here. The city is aptly named. And I was never starved for work or entertainment in a city this size.” He pauses. “You said we needed to talk. What brought you down here, Shimmer?”

“Right. Yes.” She unconsciously wraps her cloak a little tighter around herself. “I came down to… talk to a healer. I needed some information related to, well, us. Dragonborn.”

“A healer? Shimmer, are you ill?”

“No, not ill. I’m fine, really, but...” She unfastens her cloak, letting it fall onto the bed. Then she divests herself of her jerkin, leaving only a thin shift beneath. She stands, showing her profile, and smooths her shift over her belly. Her tail is curled anxiously around her feet. She looks at Ravash, waiting.

He blinks at her. Frowns. Then his eyes widen, with a hissed expletive. “Seven Hells, Shimmer. I was joking about hatchlings back then!”

She can’t help it, she laughs. “Yes, well, Past Shimmer is clearly a terrible gambler, and Current Shimmer has to deal with her mess. Which is why I needed to see a healer. I don’t know  _ anything _ about eggs and hatchlings… But I better learn.” She absently rests a hand on the slight, but obvious, bulge on her muscular frame. “And no”, she grouses, “Haven’t been with any other charming Bards who break into my quarters at night.”

He snorts. “I wasn’t going to ask.” Then he comes forward. He reaches for her hands, invitingly. She accepts. “What now, beautiful?”

She looks away. “I have no right to ask anything of you -”

“Shimmer -”

“Let me finish! Please.”

He grunts. “Go on, then.”

“What happened, happened. You were perfect. I started it, it’s my responsibility. I rolled the dice and lost.” She sighs. “You’re my friend - probably as dear to me as Ardyne, Euphie and Scirrocos by now. I care for you, with all my heart. But I have no right to claim you, when you have your own life, roaming wherever stories are to be told. I don’t expect anything, but I would like to  _ remain _ friends, come what may. And you deserved to know, whatever happens next.” 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“That said,” she continues. “Should you wish it… should you… want me.” A soft huff. “Want  _ us _ , I suppose. You’re welcome back home anytime you’re around.”

Ravash pulls her into a hug. She rests her chin atop his head.

“I don’t deny this is a shock,” he murmurs, gentle warmth in his tone. “I care for you, too, Shimmer. Very much.”

She nods, clutching him tighter.

“I… will need some time. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Ravash. It’s alright, truly.”

“Thank you, Shimmer.” He leans back, reaching up to gently grasp her chin and pull her down for a kiss. “In a few days, I have to journey south, to Baldur’s Gate. Research job. Will probably take me a month or two. After that, I’ll come back to Luskan, and give you your answer. I swear it.”

“More than I dared hope for, Ravash,” she answers, voice soft. She kisses him again. “Again, whatever you decide, I’m your friend. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Never.” He pauses. “Your father isn’t going to track me down and kill me, right?”

Shimmer snorts. “Not him, he’s practical enough to let me make my own decisions and mistakes. Ardyne’s the one you need to look out for.”

“Indeed?”

“Yep. She designated herself my mum in Chult. If she finds out, she’s likely to marry us off herself! Or just throw me in a convent, and you in a dungeon, if we protest.”

Ravash grimaces. “Guess Euphie won’t save us from her, then?”

Shimmer goes white. “Euphie isn’t coming anywhere  _ near _ my egg. Her solution to everything is breakfast! With omelettes!”

Ravash makes a strangled noise, horrified. 

“My thoughts exactly!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shimmer is, indeed, a terrible gambler. She'll be okay, but what sort of Bard do you take Ravash for, I wonder?
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. The Fifth Time

The fifth time he sees her, he’s very gratified by her reaction to a very unexpected guest.

“Father!?” Shimmer yells, seeing the slight, wiry Tabaxi on her doorstep. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?”

“Come to see my daughter and grandchild, you fool of a lizard! Come here!”

She laughs with delight, sweeping him up into a massive hug, lifting him bodily from the ground and swinging him around.

“Easy, girl!” He laughs. “Put me down before you break your old cat in half!”

“How did you even get here?” she asks, setting him down. “Or know what was going on?” she rests a hand on her taut, round stomach.

He smiles softly at her. “Someone very special came down to Dust Shingle with the news.” He looks to the side.

Shimmer follows his gaze, to meet the smiling eyes of Ravash, waiting a few feet away from the door. “Ravash,” she breathes. Her expression shifts to a glare. “You’re late. It’s been nearly four months!”

“I’m sorry, love,” he responds, still smiling. “The detour to Calimshan took a while longer than the boat ride to Baldur’s Gate.”

She blinks at him. “Love?”

“Aye, Shimmer.” He steps forward, hiding something behind his back. Spear on Sand steps back to give them some space, grinning like a loon.

“I told you I’d have an answer for you when I came back. I did you one better. I’ve got a question of my own.” He shows his hands to hold up a chain of alternating copper and silver rings, hung with an amulet of two intertwined dragons - copper, and silver. “Will you marry me?”

She gapes at him. Then her expression shifts into a massive grin, tears breaking free to stream down her cheeks. “Yes! Yes, of course I will!” She rushes him, sweeping him up effortlessly in a princess carry, knocking their foreheads together.

He yelps, but laughs as well. “Should you really be juggling your future husband, in your condition?”

She snorts. “I’m pregnant and foolish, not pregnant and weak. And I’m too much in love to care.”

“Fair enough,” he responds, kissing her, hard.

“Are you really sure, though, Ravash?” Shimmer asks breathlessly, pulling away. “Don’t you want to seek out more stories?”

“I do, I don’t deny that,” he concedes. “But there will be time enough for that. Right now, the most interesting story I can think of will be written by  _ us _ .”

Shimmer laughs, and kisses him again, even harder.

Spear on Sand whoops behind them.

\---

They don’t really bother with much of a wedding. They figure they’ll get Ardyne to do the honours when she rolls into town next. Maybe that would placate her enough to not murder them both. Besides, Scirrocos would never forgive Shimmer if she let him miss it.

Spear takes over the kitchen, hearing no arguments against it.  _ ‘Not going to let you poison my grandchild with the atrocity you call cooking, Shimmer!’ _

She’s never plagued by nightmares again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, young dumb lovers who end up happy. Who doesn't love it?
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	6. The First Time

He’s tired, cold and wet when he sees light for the first time. He whimpers with discomfort, crying out, instinct telling him to call for someone.

“Hi, little guy,” a soft voice murmurs.

Gentle, warm hands gather him up, holds him close to a warm mass, comforting and safe. He stills, snuffling into the warmth. Something soft wraps around him, sheltering from the cold.

“I’m your mama.”

Another soft voice joins in. A gentle touch strokes his forehead.

“And I’m your papa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go.
> 
> If you found this little, very personal story compelling enough to stick with all the way here, I'm humbled and grateful. Truly, thank you for reading! 
> 
> This really was a sort of catharsis - putting my hopes and dreams for Shimmer on paper, after having her be a part of me through two years of campaigning with my closest friends. Their characters are briefly mentioned here and there, as you'll have noticed, but mostly left out - not confident I can do them justice.
> 
> So go on, Shimmer. You've earned your happy ending. Go live it.


End file.
